Mills Of The Islands
p. 38 · Read in the full issue
r[E mills of God grind slowly, And so did the mill at Su’u, The little steam mill at Talina— The copra kiln at Berande— The hot air house of Faiami— And the drier at Lingatu.
Brown hands are cutting the copra, And gouging the meat from shell: The bullock carts trundling and creaking— The boys on top there are sleeping— So wends the way to the drier
That smokes at the end of the dell.
Hell-hot, the furnace glowers, The mill boys are turning the trays; Now cooking and drying the copra— Now bagging, branding, and loading— Each day from dawn till bello— Those were typical Islands days.
The mills of God grind slowly, And so did the mill at Su’u, The little steam mill at Talina— And the master’s fortune, too.